


We Gon’ Be Alright (If God Got Us)

by notyourdaydream



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Based on True Stories, Biracial Character, Black Character(s), Black Lives Matter Protests, Fluff, Multi, Police Brutality, i really don’t know what else to tag, mostly - Freeform, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29131422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourdaydream/pseuds/notyourdaydream
Summary: After a tragic event takes place in Cleveland, Mercedes learns that life is something worth fighting for.(for black history month)
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Kurt Hummel & Mercedes Jones, Mercedes Jones & Santana Lopez, Mercedes Jones/Shane Tinsley, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Sam Evans/Mercedes Jones, Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. now stay woke (they gon’ find you, gon’ catch you sleepin)

**Author's Note:**

> this story is very personal to me. it’s been in my mind for a while now, but the events of last summer, and my own experiences, was what moved me to start writing. i’ll try to upload once a week, but there’s a possibility the story may run into early march.
> 
> there are descriptions of police brutality/ a shooting throughout the story, so if that’s something you’re uncomfortable with i’d suggest skipping this story.

Today is gonna be a great day, Mercedes thought as she stuffed her binders into her backpack and grabbed her coat. The rest of the New Directions had been super cool to let her, Santana and Brittany back. And allowing them one number per competition gives them a lot of power when it comes to decision making, not just Rachel and Finn. Mercedes finally gets a say. 

She’s just about to head out of the door to leave when she sees her mom on the couch, leaning towards the couch. Her dad has a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head.

“Oh my God.” her mom moans, placing her head into her hands.

“Dad? What’s going on?” Mercedes steps into the living room, turning her attention to whatever her parents were so upset about.

_ BREAKING NEWS: 2 Unarmed Victims Shot at 140 times _

“Late last night, Timothy Russell and Malissa Williams were shot and killed in a high speed chase involving upwards of 13 officers in Cleveland, Ohio.” the news anchor starts. Her green eyes stare down the camera as she continues. “Russell and Williams were unarmed. More information will be coming in throughout the course of the day, and the week. Please stay tuned.”

The tv stills on the images of Timothy and Malissa, smile lines on the sides of their eyes. The woman, Malissa, has an arm thrown around who Mercedes could only guess is a sister. Stories untold, their eyes that bore into Mercedes and her parents, slowly fade away as the ads for cereal and toothpaste begin to play.

Mercedes’ heart sinks. 140 rounds. She’s never even seen 10 bullets in her lifetime, let alone 140. She can hear her mom crying softly in front of her.

“I’m driving you to school today.” her dad says, less of a statement, more of a command, as he grabs his keys off of the counter.

He hasn’t offered to drive her since she passed her drivers test. “Dad-“ Mercedes starts. 

“Now, Mercedes.”

The car ride is silent. Mercedes doesn’t wanna turn on the radio, she doesn’t want to hear the news again. And she doesn’t know where her dad’s head is at. She can feel the heat, the anger, buzzing off him from the driver’s seat. It’s directed to something she can’t see, people they’ve never met, but she knows exactly who they are. They don’t speak until they reach the McKinley parking lot.

Students walk past the car in all directions. Mercedes ignores one of the hockey players walking by, two giant slushies in hand. Hell, for all she knows, those are meant for her. And winter slushies hurt so much more than the others.

“You ask a friend to drive you home, okay? Shane, or Kurt, or Finn.” her dad says. Mercedes instantly scrunches her nose. There is no way in hell she’d ride with Finn, not with Rachel blabbing. Plus she knows how much of a backseat driver that girl is. But she nods, shrugging her coat on to brace the cool Ohio air.

“I love you Mercedes. Be careful.”

She pauses, halfway out of the car. Telling her to be careful, at McKinley, is a given. He’s said that ever since she told him about the 21st century torture methods being performed here. But her dad never says ‘I love you’. That’s never been his style. Or any dad’s style, she guesses. That’s when the gravity of what’s happened hits her. Something is really wrong.

“I love you too, Dad.” She shuts the door, and he pulls off.

-

Mercedes spends most of the day in the dark. 

She still doesn’t know  _ what _ exactly happened in Cleveland. Two unarmed black people were shot in a high speed chase. It sounds like something out of a movie. That’s all she knows until the end of study hall.

_ CNN: Victims in Cleveland shooting were homeless _

“Russell and Williams, both homeless, were shot at nearly 140 times,” the article reads. “They both stayed at the Lutheran Metropolitan Ministries homeless shelter in Cleveland. We are awaiting an autopsy, police and eye witness accounts. Please stay tuned as more information comes to us.”

Mercedes stares blankly at her screen, completely forgetting about her math homework. The world sort of slips away.  _ Two unarmed black homeless people were shot and killed last night. Unarmed. Homeless. Black. Shot. Killed. 140 rounds. _

The bell rings. Time for glee club. She stops at her locker, placing her chemistry and math textbooks into her locker. 

_ Unarmed. Homeless. Black. Shot. 140 rounds. Killed.  _

Someone pokes her shoulder. 

“You ready to sing another Journey song?” Kurt asks, balancing his books in his arms. “I’ve got my money on- Cedes? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just,” she says, closing her locker. She loops her arm through his as they walk down the hall. Before they reach the choir room, she thrusts her phone with the CNN article pulled up into his hands and continues. “I, have you seen this? It was on the news when I left this morning.”

Kurt skims the headline, handing her phone back. “No, I haven’t. I’ll read it after glee club, okay?” He squeezes her shoulder, sitting in his place next to Blaine, who waves to her and pecks Kurt on his cheek. She smiles. They’re so in love it makes her heart hurt. 

Sam catches her eyes as he walks over to Mike. He sticks out his tongue at her, and she rolls her eyes in return, giggling. She catches herself though, suddenly guilty. She thought she made it clear to him that she loves Shane. So what’s going on?

“Oh! Kurt, stop kissing your boyfriend, I need to ask you something.” The boy turns to her, face red from Mercedes prays is only embarrassment. “Could you drive me home today? My dad drove me to school.”

“Of course,” he says, eyebrow crooking up. If he’s confused, he doesn’t ask. She doesn’t care about the judgement, her dad’s anxious ( _ anxious,  _ her dad’s never been nervous about anything) stare as he backed out of the parking lot that morning is plastered in her mind.

Mr. Schue claps his hands as he strides into the room, silencing the kid’s chatter.“Okay everybody! Regionals will be here before we know it,” he says, passing out a stack of sheet music. “We need to explore our options so we can be ready. Now I want you to take the sheet music and look over your parts.”

Joe passes the papers to her, and it’s then that she realizes why Tina’s nearly ripped it in half. Even Finn’s shoulders sag once he gets the paper.

_ Open Arms by Journey _

  
  


“Thanks for the ride, boo,” Mercedes says, unbuckling her seatbelt. Blaine had ridden with them too (his car was at Mr. Hummel’s shop), and the three of them discussed the events of their school day. Mercedes refused to let her mind wander. She ranted about her English assignment that Blaine, always the gentlemen, offered to help her with. She interjected where she thought was necessary when Kurt complained about the application process to NYADA. 

She hasn’t been as excited to discuss her college plans. To be honest, she doesn’t know what she’s gonna do. She is talented, that’s obvious. But she has no connections, nobody to move her out of the cramped pond called Lima. She could audition for NYADA (and get in), but as much as she loves Kurt and Rachel, she needs some room to grow into who she is, not who her friends expect her to always be.

Kurt pulls up to her house, like he’s down dozens of times for sleepovers and rides to the mall or Breadstix.“I read that article.” Kurt’s voice makes her stop. It’s a little shaky, much less confident than his usual ‘better than thou’ air he puts on would have it. “It’s so horrible, what happened. You know you can talk to me, right?”

“Yeah,” Mercedes says slowly, dragging out the word. Of course she knows that.

Kurt nods, rolling down the passenger window to continue speaking. “I’ll see you tomorrow, love ya ‘Cedes.” 

“Love you too.” she calls from her porch, waving as he backs out of the driveway. 

Today has been strange. Something’s changed in her small circle, she can feel it as she bursts into her home. But she puts it aside, because it smells like onion and spices, and her dad is singing (a little out of tune, but she appreciates the enthusiasm) along to The Isley Brothers, playing on vinyl from their worn record player by the kitchen. The familiarity, the warm feeling of knowing that her parents are home and cooking dinner, fills her chest.

“Baby! Come tell us about your day. And turn that music  _ down, _ Isaac!” her mom yells over the music, laughing at her father’s less than perfect dancing.

Later, she’ll eat the meal her mom made, and laugh over her dad’s stories about work, grandiose as always. Her mom will swat at his arm, and then they’ll kiss like they always do. Mercedes will groan, as if she was four and her brother was eleven, as if she hasn’t been kissed before. She and her dad will wash the dishes, flicking the other with soapy water. And the three of them will cuddle on the couch, surfing through the channels. And she’ll feel like nothing bad could ever reach her. 

She’d be wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that’s the end of chapter one! i’ll probably write a quick valentine’s day fic, cause this story gets sad.
> 
> Timothy Russell and Malissa Williams were real people with real lives. Here are two articles detailing a bit of them.
> 
> [ Malissa Williams ](%E2%80%9D)
> 
> [ Timothy Russell ](%E2%80%9D)
> 
> Also, here’s an article about the actual shooting of Russell and Williams, in case you want know how it goes. 
> 
> [ Timothy Russell and Malissa Williams Shooting ](%E2%80%9D)


	2. we want, we believe (the black panther ten point program)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah, i think it’s been a week since i posted? anyway, i’m working on the next chapter as you read this. i should mention that i was very young when the actual events of this story occur, so some pop culture references may be incorrect.

“In West Philadelphia, born and raised!” she starts, holding her milk covered spoon to her mouth like a microphone.

“On the playground is where I spent most of my days!” her dad picks up, bobbing his head and shimmying his shoulders, disgusting black coffee threatening to slosh onto the couch.

Saturday morning’s can’t get much better than this. Old nineties tv shows on BET, rapping along to theme songs with her father. Her brother used to join in too, before he grew up and said watching Will Smith and his baggy shirts and snapbacks was “so childish”. That lasted about a month, but Mercedes could still see him mouth the words from the kitchen table. Nobody can resist nineties Will Smith.

“Chillin’ out, maxin’, relaxin’ all cool-” Mercedes starts.

“And oh, shootin’ some b-ball outside of the school!” her dad snatched the rest of the line, winking at her.

She’s about to protest when her phone buzzes twice on her thigh. Mumbling the words, she fishes her phone out of her sweatpants pocket. There’s a notification from the news app on her phone, and a text from Kurt.

_have you seen the news?_

“Dad, turn the news on, please,” she asks. 

“-More information on the police involved shooting in Cleveland. The autopsies for both Timothy Russell and Malissa Williams have been released. I will warn you, these descriptions are graphic.” the news anchor clears his throat, taking in a deep sigh before reading off a paper in front of him. Mercedes feels like she’s suffocating.

“Russell and Williams were shot twenty-three and twenty-four, respectively. Police believed Russell to be armed, but no weapon was found in the car. An officer, identified as Michael Brelo, stood on the hood of the car and fired at least 10 shots from atop the hood.”

“Turn it up, ‘Cedes,” Her dad says. It’s a whisper. It’s laced with a fear she’s experienced. Not first hand, but in another life, from another body.

Both Malissa Williams and Timothy Russell sustained multiple shots to the head, chest, and neck. Lacerations to the stomach, heart, liver, and diaphragm. The news anchor continues listing off various injuries, his voice wavering only slightly. Mercedes finds her dad’s hand over the throw pillows. He squeezes it with a ferocity, and the fear she feels courses through her, as if it was flowing from her to him.

“What are they gonna do?” Mercedes says, more to the air than her father.

His head snaps towards her, eyes alight with anger. “Nothing! They’ve done nothing to prosecute these damn fools for-”

“Isaac!” Her mother’s voice cuts through the air. Her face is damp, coat shiny from the chilled rain outside. “I know you’re angry, baby. Hell, I’m angry too. But you have to _hope_.” She sighs, shaking her head slightly. “In times like these, hope is all we have.”

_In times like these._ Times like these? She’s never experienced a time like this, seen something like this that wasn’t in a history book or an old story. She’s not stupid. She knows black people are treated differently. She’s been called _that_ word, dripping with hate. Only once. She’ll never forget it.

Freshman year. She was excited, as was every freshman. All of her favorite tv shows were set in high school, and her favorite characters seem to have so much fun. She had only been there a week, still living in that dream world, where a boy, tall and built, would not-so-secretly crush on her. Or that she’d be popular, and all of the girls would want to sit with her at lunch and have frilly sleepovers. Most of her friends from middle school went to their zone high school, but the rest wouldn’t talk to her. They looked at her funny when she walked down the halls, eyeing her bright outfits and bold personality. Mercedes didn’t mind though. She’s destined for better things than a smelly high school in the middle of nowhere Ohio. Who cares about them anyway she can make new-

_“Watch it!”_ A tall guy, he had to have been a senior. His letterman jacket scratched against her bare arm.

Mercedes gaped. Suddenly all of her confidence left her. _“Oh, I’m sorry. I, I wasn’t paying attention, and-”_

_“Save it, alright?”_ The guy next to him said as he nodded his head to a girl in a way too short walked past. __  
  
The first guy gave her a once over before they strutted off. He said it, loud enough for her to still hear, “Always fumbling over their words, those stupid ass-”

“Mercedes? Honey, I can hear you thinking.” Her mom says, ruffling her hair from behind.

“What can we do, mom? I mean, there’s gotta be something we can do,” she says. 

Her mom simply smiles. “Oh baby, there isn’t anything we can do. It’s all law now. But justice always comes, remember that.”

Her dad sucks his teeth in response. The heat from the other day is back again. Maybe it never left. He gets up, stalking towards the garage, grumbling all the way there. Her mom sighs, following after him. 

Mercedes jumps up the second she hears their flimsy screen door shut, tip-toeing upstairs to get dressed. She’s barely got her black hoodie on when she makes a new group chat.

_To: Kurt, Blaine, Santana, Matt_

_Hey! Can y’all meet at The Lima Bean in 30?_

-

“Medium drip and nonfat mocha latte for Blaine?”

“Thank you so much,” Blaine says to the barista, who gives a tight lipped smile before sliding back to the register.

Going to Lima Bean on school days and going during the weekend are totally different experiences. Monday through Friday, backpacks litter the floor, and the noise is nearly unbearable. On Saturday’s it’s mostly college students and old writers. Kids who left big cities for the “small town experience” (Blaine has no idea why anyone would want to do that, but to each their own). The booths in the far corner are usually empty, but today he slides next to Kurt on the far end, pressing into his side.

Mercedes and Kurt were already there when he came into the shop, the former nursing her own caramel macchiato. Blaine pecked Kurt’s cheek before taking off his scarf, the burnt sienna one his lola had made for him years ago. 

“Thanks, babe,” Kurt says, blowing into the lid of his coffee cup. He’s terrified of burning his tongue.

“Look who I found in the parking lot!” Santana calls, arms wrapped a guy Blaine can only assume is Matt. He’s tall, with hair buzzed close to his head. Kurt and Mercedes cheer, sending a pang of jealousy through Blaine.

“Matt! How have you been?” Kurt asks, wrapping the guy in a one armed hug, and Mercedes hugs his other side.

“I’m good! Y’all need to call more.” he laughs, walking over to Blaine, still sitting in the booth. “You must be the famous boyfriend. I’ve seen you on Kurt’s Facebook. I’m Matt.”

“Blaine, nice to meet you.” He holds his hand out, expecting a handshake, but Matt pulls him into a hug instead.

“Okay, enough reunion, Mercedes, why am I here? I was having fun _not_ seeing your faces.” Santana says, scooching next to Matt across from Blaine. Kurt tosses some biscotti at her, but she catches it, winking at him as she dips it into her peppermint mocha.

“How sweet, ‘Tan,” Mercedes laughs, but it dies off quickly. “So, I’m not sure if you all have seen the news this past week, but um, something bad happened in Cleveland. These two homeless people were shot by the police.”

Blaine lets out a small gasp, eyes widening. He admits to himself that he isn’t a big news fan, but something this important? He feels dumb to have missed it completely. Matt’s face darkens. The mood is brought down severely, gravity of the situation hanging over their small group.

Santana shakes her head, swirling her stirrer in the cooling liquid. “ I saw that last night. Screw that one guy, the one who stood on the the hood and shit. How vile.”

“My parents gave me ‘The Talk’ again after that story, did you know them or something?” Matt asks, adding more lemon to his green tea. Mercedes shakes her head no.

“Hold up, what’s ‘The Talk’? I don't know what that is,” Blaine says. Kurt has a similar look of confusion.

“Oh, it’s like a talk your parents give, you know, about how to deal with the police.” Mercedes explains, looking to Santana and Matt, who nod in agreement.

“Yeah, my dad gave me mine after I got my driver’s license,” Matt says.

“Same! Couldn’t even get my keys until we practiced placing our hands on the dashboard,” Santana adds, sweeping crumbs off of her side of the table. “Shame an officer would shoot any of us just because we’re black-“

“You’re black?” Blaine interrupts, shocked for the second time in the past few minutes.

Santana scoffs. “Duh. Dad’s black, mom’s hispanic, that’s it.” She shrugs.

“Really?”

“Are you that shocked, Blaine? Is it because I don’t look black or something?” Her eyes narrow, looking suddenly lethal.

“That’s not what he was saying, Santana.” Kurt says, locking his hand with Blaine’s. He appreciates the sentiment, but he can tell Santana is a little pissed.

“Anyway, I wanted to do something. I know it’s a bit far away, but February is Black History Month. I was thinking we could hold an assembly.” Mercedes pauses, looking around at the other’s faces. “I know it’s a long shot but-“

Kurt places a hand on her forearm. “That’s a great idea, Mercedes.”

“You all really think so?” Blaine nods. McKinley doesn’t have assemblies for cultural reasons. Or any assemblies, at least not since Blaine’s transferred. He suspects Sue has more to do with it than Principal Figgins.

“I can get the Cheerios involved,” Santana says.

“What about Coach Sylvester?” Blaine asks. 

Santana shrugs, as if Sue was nothing more than a bug to squash. “What about her? _I’m_ cheer capitan.” 

“ _Co_ capitan,” Kurt adds, receiving an eye roll from the girl. He seems unfazed, Blaine notices. Probably because he’s seen worse eye rolls from Kurt.

“I know I don’t go to McKinley anymore,” Matt says, “but I can bring my step team over.”

“Oh my God, that’d be awesome! Thank you guys!” Mercedes exclaims, scribbling on wrinkled sheet of loose leaf.

“I guess we could get the New Directions involved?” Kurt says, looking at Blaine. He doesn’t know why his boyfriend frames it like a question, of course the New Directions should be involved.

“And the Troubletones, obviously.” Blaine says, making Mercedes laugh. She writes the names of both teams down.

“How could I forget?” she giggles.

It’s another hour or two of throwing ideas out. They still have to decide on songs to sing, and costumes. Mercedes decides to get the McKinley chapter of the Black Student Union involved.

“Shane is a member of the council, and they’ll know how to help,” she says, to which Blaine and the other three immediately agree.

“Thank you guys so much.” Mercedes smiles, her eyes brimming with tears.

“It’s the least we could do, ‘Cedes, for real.” Matt slides out of the booth, leather seat squelching as he does so. “I have to run, but we can keep planning through winter break, aight?” he nods, walking out to the parking lot.

“I’m out too, gotta gets to Lima Heights. Catch you later, queens.”

-

Their voices are distant, but she can make them out from where she is under the streetlamp.

“Drive safe, okay? Love you.”

“Love you too, Kurt.”

She can hear the smack of their kiss. Gross. 

“Save it for the closet, boys!” she yells, receiving the middle finger from Kurt as he walks to his car.

“I love you too, Satan!” he laughs, starting the engine and driving towards his house.

“I thought you already left.”

“Holy shit!” Santana gasps. “Blaine, you can’t sneak up on me like that! If I didn’t smell your manufactured raspberry scent, I probably would’ve punched you in the face.” She breathes, icy air filling her lungs. Sleet falls, landing around them and soaking her beanie.

His skin is washed orange from the glow of the streetlamp. Santana can see the gel in his hair, and it makes her cringe. Trying to run your hands through that mess must feel like kneading jello. God bless Hummel. She huffs, breath showing in front of her in a misty cloud.

“Sorry. Do you need a ride? It’s getting late,” Blaine says, blowing air into his hands.

“No. I do not need a ride on rainbow gay bus three thousand, thank you very much.”

Blaine laughs at her joke, like, full on belly laughing. “You can’t really make those jokes, being a lesbian and all.”

She’s dumbfounded. She hasn’t even thought of that. Damn Blaine being right about stuff. Dating Kurt must’ve rubbed off.

“I guess you're right. Okay, it’s cold, c’mon.” She walks in the direction of his car, sliding into the passenger seat. “I hope you don’t have anything lying around here.”

Blaine’s face is flushed red. He coughs. “Put your address in my phone.”

Santana smirks. Making Blaine embarrassed is a simple pleasure.

The ride is mostly silent, save for the Top 40 playing softly on the radio. Lima Heights is a good forty five minutes from Lima, and Santana spends a good part of the drive curled in the seat.

It isn’t until the car reaches a red light that Blaine speaks. “I’m sorry.”

“Hold up, Farrah Fawcett.” Santana sits up. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I, uh. Being so shocked you were black. It was rude, I could tell it made you upset.” 

Santana sets her jaw, keeps her eyes ahead. “I was pretty mad. But you wouldn’t have known.”

“It’s not that I’m ashamed or anything it’s just,” She exhales. “I don’t like explaining myself. If I tell people I’m half black, it’s always, ‘Oh you must like this, or you can say this, blah blah blah.’ It’s annoying,” she says.

“I feel the same way.”

“How? I thought you were…” Santana trails off. 

“I’m biracial, too.” Blaine explains, shrugging. “Asian-American. My mom’s Filipino.”

“Oh.” She feels like a hypocrite. She actually feels bad, cause she can see Blaine tense up next to her. 

Blaine just laughs, and it sounds a little watery. “Yeah. Oh.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I just. I feel out of place. Sometimes. I’m either too much of this, or too little of that. Like you said, it’s annoying.”

“You just wanna be good enough being yourself?” She asks, almost more to herself than him. She looks down at her hands, clasped as if she were praying.

Blaine turns to face her, a lone tear making his way down his cheek. She has the urge to swipe it away. “Yes. Exactly.”

“Yeah, me too.” Santana sniffs. She scrunches her face up, determined not to cry. She directs all focus back to her hands.

“This light is abnormally long.” Blaine deadpans. Santana laughs, and soon he’s laughing. And when the light turns green, and they laugh even harder. 

They don’t say anything after that, not after the light turns green, or when the car pulls into Santana’s driveway. 

And maybe they don’t have to, Santana muses.

Maybe understanding each other is enough.

He just waves, and she smiles in return. Not a fake smile, or her mean smile. A real one. And damn it, it’s been a while since she’s felt this happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i did include Matt! he deserved better.
> 
> also, i have a companion piece for this story! it’s just a collection of free verse poems and short stories i’ve written. i’m posting them on tumblr, but if it’d be easier to view here, i have no problem doing that as well! (they aren’t based on glee or it’s characters, fyi)


End file.
